Worth
by lokogato-sama
Summary: The Thief King meets a boy. Shortly after, the Thief King loses him. Another item on the list of Yami no Bakura’s reasons. Probably the shortest AEAU ever; Gemshippy. [RB]


Loko: Squee, Gemshippy! We heart the Thief King and the pretty-boi.

Ryou: … I died again.

Loko: … Sorry.

Summary: The Thief King meets a boy. Shortly after, the Thief King loses him. Another item on the list of Yami no Bakura's reasons. Possibly the shortest AEAU ever; Gemshippy. RB

Disclaimer: No, Takahashi-san _still_ owns pretty ancient-era thieves and their boy-toys … alas.

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worth

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"Mm, pretty," The Thief King smiled at the shiny gold necklace strung out between his fingers. Or, at least, the closest thing to a smile the Thief King ever got. With a small twitch, the smile-thing flickered into a smirk, and he tossed the delicate strand into a hidden compartment in his sleeve with a calloused hand.

His companion, an equally dark-skinned Egyptian with startlingly light hair, suddenly elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

"What in Ra's - " Bakura snapped, and noticed what Malik was pointing at. "I see."

"Mm, _pretty_," Malik grinned. "Yours or mine?"

Bakura looked carefully at the boy huddled against the city wall, holding a small bag of something between thin fingers. Seeming to sense the pair's gaze, the boy suddenly looked up, eyes locking with Bakura's, and the Thief King's light eyebrow rose.

"Are those _green_?" Malik voiced the thought they shared, pursing his lips appreciatively. "Now that – that is _rare_."

Bakura blinked carefully, looked at the wall behind the boy, and focused back onto the child. No, his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. That _wasn't_ a headcloth. "Mine," He said simply, and started over. Malik looked injured.

"I saw him first," He said, looking put out. Once Bakura set his sights on something, though …

"He has white hair," Bakura said, as if that explained everything. Which, if it weren't for the fact that Bakura's own hair was hidden beneath a scandalously bright red cloth, it would.

"Oh, I _see_," Malik said. "You narcissist."

"Shut up," Bakura said. The boy had left the wall and was actually heading _towards _them, not away from them, as most children did. As the child moved, he reached into his bag and took something – a rather glittery something – out of it and held it tightly in a startlingly pale fist peering out of a ragged sleeve-end. The sleeve-end led up into a dusty shirt that was far too large for the boy, and ended at a torn collar. Whatever the boy's story, life hadn't been easy with him.

"Excuse me, sir," The child said. His voice was light, reminiscent of oases in the way his green eyes moved fretfully like water and his pale throat quivered with each word. The dust floated an aura of glittering gold dust, making the boy a bewitching illusion.

"What?" Bakura asked in a dangerously easy way.

"Will you buy one?" Bakura stared in astonishment at the proffered merchandise, held out in a pale hand with, strangely enough, soft palms but hard, shell-like fingertips.

"Will I what?" He asked. Malik sniggered, earning him a deathly red glare.

"Buy one?" The child asked timidly, holding the small jewels out a little further. No, not even jewels, Bakura realized. They were merely little pieces of amber-coloured rock, and in each one embedded – a scarab. Bakura picked out a particularly large one, tapping it lightly. A quiet dull sound emanated for a moment.

"Are these real scarabs?" He inquired, curious.

"Yes," The boy nodded eagerly. "They're scarabs trapped in honey and allowed to dry to hardness."

"So I could eat them?" Bakura smirked.

"Oh, no," The boy said, looking horrified. "They're coated with glaze so they last."

"I see," Bakura said.

"Buying one?" Malik asked.

"How much?" Bakura asked the boy.

"A copper piece," The boy said, hope flooding his water-green eyes. "Would you like one too, sir?" He turned to Malik.

"Nah," Malik said. "All yours," He added to Bakura.

"A copper piece," Bakura laughed. "Tell me, child, do you know who I am?"

"Nobility?" The boy guessed. "But your hands are very calloused …"

Bakura's eyebrow rose again. Surprisingly observant, this boy. "I'm the Thief King," He said.

"Oh," The boy said, and fear stole into and mingled with the hope rippling in his face. Bakura squatted in front of the boy, reaching out and tilting the thin chin with unexpected gentleness, which was unfortunately cancelled out by his smirk.

"So, tell me again," He said conversationally. "How much do you want for this trinket?"

"A – a copper piece," The boy said bravely, looking as if he wanted to run away but didn't have a choice. Looking at his generally ragged condition, Bakura was rather sure that it was quite likely he _didn't _have a choice. "Please."

"Malik," Bakura said. "How much do you think a kiss from the Thief King is worth?"

"Figure it out for yourself," Malik said readily. "Or ask the kid."

"Well?" Bakura asked, smirk fixed firmly in place against the frightened look of the green-eyed boy.

"I – don't know," The boy said.

Bakura kissed him.

The boy tasted like early morning, before the desert met the sun in his entirety, and after the chill of moon had left the sand.

"Well?" Bakura asked.

"I can't eat off of it," The boy said suddenly, looking much more daring than before. Bakura laughed in wonder.

"Are you about ready to die?" He queried. "To speak this way to the Thief King."

"I'll probably die of hunger before you can kill me," The child said. "Please just buy one."

Bakura laughed again, and Malik looked startled before letting his expression flicker into a smirk.

"I've only got gold," He said. "Got change?"

"No," The boy said. "But I can find some for you if you come back tomorrow."

"Alright," Bakura smiled and, with a flourish, he produced a bright piece of gold and replaced the scarab-jewel in the boy's palm with it. "Make sure you're here tomorrow with _exactly _four copper pieces."

"Yes," The boy said, eyes shining like a mirage, hands clutching the gold piece like a miracle. "I promise."

"Hey kid," Bakura said suddenly. "What's your name?"

"I don't know," The boy admitted.

"Well, I'll know you when I see you, won't I?" With a light tug at the boy's white hair, Bakura grinned and turned, seeming to vanish into the city. Malik nodded at the ghostly-pale figure and disappeared similarly. The boy stared after the two thieves with a smile, and ran towards the market.

In the shadow of an alleyway, Malik prodded Bakura.

"Oi, softie," He said.

"What did you call me?" Bakura said threateningly.

"I saw you," Malik said. "You were smiling. Don't even try to deny it. You trust this kid?"

"Like hell," Bakura said. "He won't be here tomorrow."

-

"I thought you said he wouldn't be here," Malik said, eyeing Bakura with a smirk.

"Who said we were checking?" Bakura snapped.

"So why are _we_ here, then?" Malik inquired, leaning casually against the wall.

"Because I bloody wanted to walk outside the city, alright?" Bakura growled, fingering the amber-coloured pebble in his sleeve. "Now shut up."

"Whatever you say," Malik began, and froze.

"What?" Bakura demanded.

"You … wouldn't happen to be wanted in this town, would you?" Malik asked softly.

"I'm wanted everywhere," Bakura said proudly, and then the realization hit. Slowly, painfully, excruciatingly, he turned, hoping very much that Malik was playing a joke.

No joke.

The boy's body rattled and shook with the cart, only recognizable due to the shock of white remaining at the ends of his hair. The rest was matted and blood-soaked, as were his clothes. And the pool of blood by the gate … how had Bakura missed that?

I'll know you when I see you, won't I? 

Green eyes half open in the all-knowing stare of the dead, flies landing on and surrounding the jade pools.

"No," Bakura whispered. "_No._"

"Bakura," Malik said, looking pained.

The soldiers following the cart laughed and tossed a small, awfully familiar bag between them. Bakura forced himself to approach, hand automatically checking for loose strands of white, tucking any he found into beneath the red cloth.

"Who's this?" He asked, amazed at his own voice's stability.

"The Thief King," One of the soldiers said proudly.

"Or his look-alike, anyway," His companion snorted. "You always think you're such a hotshot, and now you're worse, thinking you've got the Thief King."

"_White_ hair," The first soldier said, undeterred, and snatched a handful of it to illustrate his point. Moments later, he stared, startled, into furious red eyes. "What the hell?"

"Kid's dead already," Bakura forced his expression back to neutral. At his back, he felt Malik's cautionary presence. "Can't help any to play with the body. Unless you're into that."

The soldier yanked his hand back from both Bakura and the boy's body. "Ra-damned humanist," He spat. "This _kid's_ robbed some of the most sacred tombs out there. He doesn't deserve to be considered human."

Bakura felt a dangerous anger rise in the back of his throat, and he forced himself to smile.

"How do you know he's the Thief King?" He asked. "He looks a bit young for that, doesn't he?"

"White hair," The soldier said again. "Everyone knows the Thief King has white hair. And then this idiot just stands in front of a city gate, showing off that mane as if he didn't know he was wanted from one end of country to the other."

Bakura bit the inside of his lip, forcing himself to be calm. Blackness threatened around his vision, his anger demanding release.

"Here," The other soldier said, tossing him the bag. "This is what the kid had on him when we found him here. You're so interested, you keep it. You never know; could be the real thing. Sell it for a fortune."

"Probably what's left of his last raid," The first soldier said. "He said it was his from selling trinkets. As if we'd believe that a dirty kid like that could have that much money. Lucky for us though – gave us our excuse to take him. Pharaoh's going to be happy with whoever catches the Thief King."

The cart trundled on, blood dripping slowly between the slats of the frame and making small, circular marks in the sand.

"Bakura," Malik said warningly.

The Thief King ignored him, turning the contents of the bag out onto the sand. Five more of the little honey-frozen scarabs, glittering and winking brightly against the blinding sand. _And crooked copper pieces _…

"One, two, three," Bakura counted slowly, dread filling him. "Four …"

"Bakura," Malik said.

"Damn it," Bakura said, snatching up the coins. "_Damn the little idiot!_"

"Bakura!" Malik said. "You're getting worked up over a kid. Kids die all the time. That one wasn't going to last anyway."

Bakura ignored him. "Why the _hell_ did you actually _go _and get change for, _huh_? Now you're _dead! _How's _that_? Can't live off _that_ either!"

Malik closed his eyes.

Another cart rumbled unnervingly close, one wheel crushing most of the remaining scarabs and the other splashing heedlessly into the pool of blood, sending flecks of red onto Bakura's face and skin, coppery against his tongue when he tentatively tasted it.

He started laughing, hysteria lacing into his tone as he threw his head back and mocked the heedless sky.

"Bakura," Malik said, irritably touching one motionless arm. "Bakura, you're _attracting attention_. I'm not going to be caught with you because you got soft for your look-alike! Get yourself together!"

"_Damn Ra! Damn it all!_"

-

Bakura Ryou woke up screaming, and was surprised.

"Strange dream," He remarked to himself, and grabbed his new uniform, buttoning a white shirt over the heavy pendant on his chest. With a gesture born of nervous habit, he touched the glowing gold, drawing comfort from its familiarity. "I'm probably just anxious; it's my first day in yet another new school …"

He paused, blinking at a gleaming something on his desk.

"Funny, I don't remember having _that_ before." The clock beeped the hour. "Oh, _no_, I'm going to be late for the first day _again_ …"

The scarab glittered in its prison of amber.

-owari-

words: 1940

paragraphs: 103

sentences: 212

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A/N:

The gold piece was worth five copper – hence, the Ryou-child's four pieces of change. We don't know the official changes, of course – lacking research materials, and possibly the information in general. We don't even know if this is the proper currency. :sigh at inconsistency:

Usually in ancient-time settings silver is worth less than gold, but actually, in ancient Egypt, due to the fact that silver was much rarer than gold (hence all the gold jewellery everywhere) it was actually valued higher. Thus, we decided not to use silver as the next denomination up from copper. It's not that we're dumb … we're just sort of nerdy.

We also have no clue as to whether you can really do that with honey and glaze. But … uh … mosquitoes can be caught in tree sap, can't they? Honey dries pretty hard, a kid might be able to pass off the things as something pretty enough for a copper piece … And scarabs aren't exactly rare. They're actually just dung beetles. So the scarabs holding the suns in Egyptian grave-art? Yup, giant dung-beetles pushing giant balls of dung. That is the actual symbolism there. w 

So … yeah. Possibly the shortest AEAU ever.

Yami no Bakura: … You died again.

Ryou: … Sorry.

Loko: … Sorry.

Yami no Bakura: You're both _dead_.

Ryou: Meep.

Loko: _Meep._

So, yes. For Ryou-kun and our sakes! Please REVIEW!

lokogato enterprises ltd.

12:57 PM

03-04-05


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